Duality
by skywalker05
Summary: Masters and apprentices across the ages--their first meetings, finest moments, mistakes, and what they became because of one another. Chapter 3: Anakin and Ahsoka.
1. Anakin and ObiWan

_A/N: This was inspired by __**TheMacUnleashed**__'s collection of stories about Masters and Padawans–if you're at all interested in this go check out hers as well.

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**Duality**

_I. Anakin and Obi-Wan_

I. First Impression

When he hears Obi-Wan call Qui-Gon _Master_, it is as if the ship has lurched beneath him; he has been terribly betrayed! But no–what slaver would go through such an elaborate ruse to capture one boy, even a top racer? And he can _sense _the rightness, as surely as if he were beholding the wonders of the Jedi Temple already. (He is not sure what those wonders are, as mostly when he imagined Jedi they were flying or fighting, but right now the air seems as imbued with promise as with oxygen.)

So he assesses Obi-Wan again, and sees a man younger, less scarred, than Qui-Gon's example had lead him to imagine Jedi to be; were he raised in Mos Espa, Anakin thought, Obi-Wan would be...what? A gambler, a farmer, a vagrant? He does not seem to fit any of those molds. On Tatooine, anyone with such...such a shy sort of politeness, paired with the authority and skill shown by the fact he carried a lightsaber, would be left alone.

* * *

II. Conflict

Obi-Wan was waiting when Anakin arrived in the apartment. He looked at the grease stains on Anakin's brown-clad flanks, at the dirt tracked in across the immaculate Temple carpets. He knew better by now than to ask where Anakin had been.

Instead, he chose, "What did you learn?"

Anakin looked confused. He passed into the suite, began to undo dirt-stained tabards with his back to his teacher. "I learned that winning a couple races means attracting young fans who want advice."

"Hmm. And do you advise them?"

"A little."

"Be careful. If too many beings recognize you–I've given up telling you not to flee the temple on every whim, but Padawan–"

Anakin disappeared into his room, leaving the door cracked open. Obi-Wan thought about when the carpet-cleaning droid next made its rounds.

Anakin said, "I know, Master. I never stay long afterward. And there's only so much to teach. They won't ever be like me."

The arrogance slipped out effortless and sincere, and Obi-Wan knew he was right; no one without the Force–no one with, if Obi-Wan were honest–could do the things Anakin did. But the difference between Master and apprentice was not as different as that between those with the Force and those without.

A memory came to Obi-Wan then, something that he wasn't sure would be right, but that nagged at his brain until he revealed it. "Qui-Gon once told me that a good teacher's greatest desire is for his student to become more talented than himself."

"I think that's a bit foolish," Anakin said, and it was as if he had insulted Qui-Gon. "That could leave the teacher in danger. And it might not be possible. Everyone has so much talent. So many midi-chlorians." He emerged into the sitting room, wearing a fresh tunic.

He felt what he had done and said, "I'm sorry," and then, "I mean, I just think as a statement it's too absolute."

"That it is," said Obi-Wan soberly.

* * *

III. Their Finest Hour

There is a moment, during the great hurtling final flight of the _Invisible Hand_, when in the storm of the Force Anakin slides aside into the calm center and sees Obi-Wan. He cannot spare a glance from the controls and readouts, but from the Jedi Master's presence in the Force he can picture his mentor's expression with almost no effort; jaw set beneath his beard, blue eyes straight ahead, hands loose but white on the armrests. Anakin knows how much Obi-Wan hates to fly, and so his unexpected, Force-borne calmness is a patch of serenity.

They could all die here, now, but Anakin has faced death before, and he cannot help but revel in speed, in how gouts of fire rip from the ship's hull and flash past, cooling from white to red. He hears every crack and strain of the hull and understands their meaning as if they were language, Huttese or Basic or the song of the Force. He has always met action with action, but here by his Master's example he meets it with silence, potential readiness, a calm center. For just a moment.

* * *

IV. Each Other's Creations

It is on Mustafar, as their lightsaber blades cross like reality and its reflection in the mirror, that he realizes without a doubt that he is stronger than Obi-Wan. Not more experienced or more controlled–certainly not a better teacher. But he has always been more talented, and this, he realizes, makes the Council's denial of his Mastery moot. He is apart from their system.

So they fight, strike-twist-strike-deflect-set, oh-so-precise, and Anakin thinks he has nothing more to learn.

***

And so, after another fight, in which the lightsaber blades were blue and green but nevertheless purer reflections of each other than were the blue and blue, one aspect of the Force asks another, "Master, can you possibly forgive me?"

"Of course. You have learned that no one should ever stop learning."

"I know." But a bit of rakishness remains. "That's such a cliche."

Obi-Wan had been trusting Anakin to pick up his platitude instead of the truth of what he said. "It isn't. I say that everyone should keep learning, not that it is impossible to ever stop. Many stop. They become too used to a repetitive world."

Anakin considers, replies; "I know now that we were all slaves to Palpatine; I was, and the Republic, and perhaps the Jedi. But I won't confuse a Master who restricts one world with a mentor, who expands it, ever again."

And because it is the Force speaking, two of its strongest aspects fused with itself again, Luke feels their thoughts, and breathes in deep the cool clear air of Endor, and smiles at his father.


	2. Darth Maul and Darth Sidious

**II. Darth Maul and Darth Sidious

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**

I. First Impression

His eyes are wide, and a brown-bronze that catches in the sun. His skin is vermillion swathed in a brown robe and belt; his crown of horns will emerge and shed their velvet in a handful of years. Darth Sidious knows that this region of Iridonia upholds the old ways, and so the kidnapping of a child results in a personal vendetta. But Sidious has groomed and watched this one, and so the father, almost but not quite bearing the perfect set of characteristics, will hunt him with hay-fork and _zhaboka_, but Sidious will be long gone.

* * *

II. Conflict

They stand on the shores of one of Coruscant's tide pools of sentient life. The wake from speeders' repulsorlifts wash imperceptivity against the buildings that served as the shore. Beings blind as cavefish, without the Force, pilot the speeders or throng in schools along the many layers of sidewalks. Beyond them, the Jedi Temple with its towers; a fungus sprouting on the hot bent of the Force nexus.

Darth Maul yearns to stir the waters and see what silver sides flash.

Only a litany will keep him in place now—words that replaces shivers, words that are movements themselves—_patiencepatiencepatience—_

"You feel them, don't you, my apprentice…" Sidious' voice trails off, treading a narrow creaking line.

Maul's words are tightly reined in but bucking. "We can take the Jedi. We can control this tawdry world and begin the Sith epoch…"

"Now is not the time."

"Tell me why." One hand curls. Maul twitches from wrist to elbow, like the recoil of a punch.

Sidious glances into the apprentice's eyes and away, settling a haughty stare over the city. "All the pieces are not in place. Events which you do not understand must yet occur."

But what is there to understand? The Temple's lights are _there_, a speeder ride away, and they are _Sith_, strong of arm and thought—

"No," Sidious draws the word out into a croon. "You will bide until_ I_ am ready."

Maul takes one step—no, lifts one heel to step. And light flares before his eyes, blue with lightning-white at the edges . Sidious holds lightning beneath Maul's chin, sparks dripping in molten gouts onto his collar. Sidious has hurt him before, and so he knows that he has done wrong (despite the wantwantwant beating inside him, that Sidious instilled in him). He stills, settles down.

"I allow you what freedom is appropriate. I choose your tasks carefully, to undermine, and weaken, the galaxy's structure, instead of throwing yourself against their strengths and being _dashed_."

Maul's mind flicks to fights, to metaphors he understands.

Sidious says, "We will slowly bleed them white."

Most securely lodged in Maul's thoughts—cultivated, synapse-locked—is the overwhelming desire to obey Sidious' orders. To be shown the way to go. He thinks, _this waiting—this slow killing—is not my way_, but he says nothing.

* * *

III. Their Finest Hour

_One cannot_, Sidious thought, _rule by fear alone. But fearful situations inspire strong loyalty in a leader who either defies that fear or embraces it. Facing fear, using it against others, gives one the confidence necessary to face it again._

He had just shut off the holo-comm to Naboo—the Neimoidians had taken the castle and Maul was in place. He would distract the Jedi, and be distracted—Sidious wanted to appear a fool for employing an apprentice who would engage with the Jedi instead of bypassing them to reach the queen when she was closest, but Sidious was no fool. The Jedi would realize now that they were fighting on two fronts, the devilish Sith and the greedy Trade Federation, and that knowledge would tear them apart more surely than Maul's hands ever could.

For Maul, there would be no finest hour; only one more order than was so ingrained he didn't know he was following it. He was out there, the weapon, and Sidious, ensconced on Coruscant, the commander—and this was the way Sidious had always intended it to be, with this apprentice.

* * *

IV. Each Other's Creation

In the labyrinthine reactor network that provides Theed with power, Darth Maul breathes in the hot electric scent of splitting atoms, and enters again into the fray.

And beside another abyss, looking down at another battle as Darth Vader presses his metal bulk foreword and Luke Skywalker tries to stop him with words, Emperor Palpatine wonders whether Vader has always been too human. Palpatine should have worked harder to kill the children when they were young and close—now they are holes in Vader's armor. Maul had no such compunctions, no such pity, no such intelligence.

And in that way, he had given Palpatine too low—or too high—expectations.  
Palpatine discards the transient thoughts of the past and refocuses on the present.

* * *


	3. Ahsoka and Anakin

_III. Ahsoka and Anakin_

I. First Impression

Anakin opened the door of their suite and looked up past the brown folds of Jedi cloak to a masked alien face. He did not recognize this Jedi, nor the orange-faced youngling standing next to him, one of her pudgy hands gripping his trouser leg. She could not have been older than five, not if her species aged like Anakin's.

Without looking around, he called out, "Master Obi-Wan?"  
The tall alien said, "Good day."

Anakin heard the footsteps and rustlings of Obi-Wan's approach from within the young Master's room before Obi-Wan passed in front of him to soberly shake the visitor's hand. "Master Plo. It's good to see you."

Plo said, "And you. The entire Temple waited to hear of how things fared at Naboo."

"I'm glad to be alive."

"If you need to talk…"

"Come in. Have some tea."

The Force grew cold and hollow, and Anakin realized with some surprise that he _knew _that both Plo and Obi-Wan were thinking about Qui-Gon. They would bond over their shared friendship with the older Master. Anakin would give them their quiet time, their tea—and then he would mourn again, when he asked Obi-Wan how Master Plo had known Qui-Gon.

But for now, as Plo sat down on the couch in the middle of the anteroom and Obi-Wan turned his back to them all to attend to the hot water dispenser, Anakin saw that the youngling Master Plo had brought was standing in the middle of the room, looking around with wide blue eyes.

"Hi," he said. She waved at him, focused on examining the room, or at feeling its dimensions with the narrow, hollow cones above her forehead. He recognized her species as the vivid Togruta; one of the Jedi Masters looked similar, but with long, flowing head-tails instead of these stubby ones. Anakin had seen a few Togruta on Tatooine before, but had never had the opportunity then to read about each species like he could here. He knew that the Togruta youngling was partially echo-blind now; that only in her late teenage years would her senses be refined, until she could locate movement around her without her eyes, and without the Force.

"Anakin," Plo said, "Good to finally meet you. Welcome. This is Ahsoka Tano. She was brought to the Temple recently as well."

_Was Master Plo saying that Anakin was as childlike as she was? _Anakin felt that he needed to show his independence—but part of the way he could do that was by being polite, by making the person he was speaking to think that their two priorities were the same. He had sold worthless scrap this way. "Is she your Padawan?"

"No—she is too young. She will be paired with a Master one day. Now she should be in the crèche—but when I pass by she looks at me and I can't resist letting her have some time out." Plo could not smile like a human, but a tilt of his head and a fondness in the Force gave the same impression. Anakin smiled with him. Obi-Wan approached and put a tray set with two steaming cups of tea down on the table.

Anakin could have sat down next to him, but there was melancholy and remembrance gathering between them like the steam, and so he sat down on the carpet and patted it for Ahsoka to come sit next to him.

She did, and her robe pooled around her.

"Hi," he said again. "I'm Anakin. I helped stop the droid army on Naboo."

"Anakin?"

"Yes."

They did not speak after that, because she seemed more interested in crawling about the room, exploring beneath the couches and in the corners, than in hearing about Anakin's exploits. Eventually he went to his room and thought about Qui-Gon, and listened to the low voices from the Masters who were, in their adult way, grieving. Ahsoka followed Plo back to the crèche, and Anakin's training began in earnest, and they did not see one another again for a long time.

* * *

II. Conflict.

For weeks they were stationed on a world which reminded Anakin of another planet, from earlier in the war, where he had eaten grubs and other insects because they had been tastier than the Republic rations. But here, war was no longer new. There was no thrill in going out and catching things; he kept what energy he had for when he would need to expend it. He washed ration bars down with water.

But one day he saw Ahsoka sitting behind a wooden barrier, eating something that stained her hands red. He saw that it had a tail before he ducked back out of her view and composed himself.

"Padawan?" He stepped out in front of her; she looked up from a hunk of purplish meat. "What are you eating?"

"I saw one of the native predators eat one; it's fine."

"It's raw."

She wiped her mouth on her gauntlet. "Master. I'm a Togruta. We don't get sick like you do just because we eat something as soon as we've got it."

He sat down next to her, looking out at the camp where under the setting sun the clones' tents squatted like caterpillars. "Right."

He had never really thought about her as alien before. _An _alien, certainly, but a Jedi child.

"Do you talk to other Togruta at the Temple often?"

She replied, "Shaak Ti and a few others get together sometimes. Tell stories, tell us about Shilli and our culture. That's where I ate like this first."

"Hmm. I wonder if anyone would bother to make a group like that for Tatooine."

"There're plenty of humans."

"But they've all got different cultures."

"Sure, but…most food at the Temple is based on yours. Humans aren't very distinct."

"I just wouldn't mind being with desert people for a while." People, he meant, who understood a culture of slaves. So that he wouldn't forget what the evil he was trying to fight really looked like, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to trade every sandy day on Tatooine for new memories of shining Coruscant and brighter-shining Padme_._

Ahsoka looked out at the sun.

* * *

III. Their Finest Hour

Through the Force and on the clones' HUDs, the cluster of droids could clearly be seen from five blocks away, and so the Republic troops progressed confidently through the empty city streets. The clear, white walls around them bore the long black streaks of laser fire. The disk-shaped cleaning droids that constantly patrolled the city would occasionally delve into one of these fissures, extend its painting arm, and be engulfed in a waterfall of sparks.

The CIS never saw their foe coming. The clones swept in below and the Jedi above. Anakin saw Ahsoka leap, kick herself off a wall fifteen feet up. His breath caught as his first foe turned, ran into the sweep of his blade, and Ahsoka's readied their blasters.

But over his own whirling hands, he saw her Force-push the row of droids in front of her, scattering them into the sky. The laser shots went high and then Ahsoka was among them like a predator dropping down from a tree, green blade whirling.

He fell into the rhythm of battle after that. Few times had Anakin felt as immortal as this; the Force danced him around all oncoming attacks, and the droids fell like so much scrap metal from Watto's shop—

Until it was him and Ahsoka and three clones, their armor scuffed to gray, against a handful of droids backed up against a wall, and one of the clones fell dead into Ahsoka's arms.

She had sensed the coming of the fall, if not the death; she doused her lightsaber and caught the man under the arms. His armored body, so much taller and heavier than hers, shielded her from oncoming fire. She struggled under his weight but held him up, her eyes wide, her legs shaking.

The clones finished the droids while she held him up.

Anakin flitted to her side the moment he could, not sure whether to tell her that the battle is over.

She lay the clone down and folded her legs beneath her to sit on the sidewalk beside him.

She said, "I thought we had won. But I felt the laser meant for him and couldn't move in front fast enough."

Other clones gathered around, and silently they mourned their brother.

When Ahsoka finally rose, Anakin clasped her shoulder, feeling how sharp were her bones. Had she been eating enough? Such skinny shoulders. He said, "_Feeling _for your men is a sign of a great spirit. Keep that."

She glared at an invisible point in front of her. "I'd rather not."

It had been said so many times, proven so many times, but he could think of little else to say then, "Battles don't often turn out as gloriously as they appear. It's war—the losing side could turn around and win at any moment. There's just so many minutes in a melee like this. There's no such thing as a finest hour."

* * *

IV. Each Other's Creation

Luke refuses, but Vader stalks away into the clue-black corridors of Bespin, finding his way back through the smashed banks of machinery and the gates which only the Ugnaughts know, and he is not discouraged. Because Luke does not know that Vader has had an apprentice before, that before he _was _Vader he had known how to train someone who did not believe they needed to be trained.


End file.
